


catharsis

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [74]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 19:08:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12305769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: Wrote this as a way to process my 03x04 feels...





	catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/166043961473/catharsis) on tumblr

It had been perhaps fifteen minutes since John and Willie’s heads had disappeared over the far rise. Yet Jamie still stood rooted to the spot, fists clenched, breathing hard.

Had John not recovered, Willie would have spent even more time with them – time with Ian, and time with Claire.

Claire. God knew his wife had the Blessed Mother’s own patience with everything concerning him – including, now, his bastard son.

No. Not a bastard – a wee bit spoiled, perhaps, but he had a fine man for a father. The man Jamie himself had chosen – the only man he trusted to raise Willie in the way he would have, had he been able.

Movement behind him – a raccoon, perhaps, or a skunk? He was still getting used to such strange creatures in the Colonies…

Heaving a final sigh, Jamie turned to return home to the cabin. To his family.

To his wife.

He found her on her knees amid her wee garden, carefully digging a shallow trench with the one small metal spade he had bartered from a Moravian in exchange for six deer pelts.

The afternoon sunlight struck her hair. Crowning her with gold. His Queen.

She looked up at the rustle of dead leaves on the forest floor – wiped her brow with the back of a grimy sleeve – and beamed at him.

“Are they off, then?”

Slowly, carefully, Jamie sat in the dirt, folding his legs, facing her.

“Aye.”

He hesitated – sighed.

“I need to tell you some things, Claire.”

She cocked her head, brows furrowed. “What kind of things?”

He smoothed the edge of his kilt over one knee. “Things I should have told ye long ago. Only – I mean to tell it to you all at once, and I beg yer indulgence to listen to what I have to say. Then ye can yell or scream or brain me wi’ the spade afterward. I only want ye to listen.”

Gently she lay down the spade, and pushed it to his side – out of her reach – as a sign of good faith.

“I can do that. But what’s this about? You’re scaring me – ”

“It’s about William and how he came to be.”

Oh.

Claire’s eyes widened, but to her credit said nothing.

“I did promise ye honesty, once. And I dinna make idle vows, aye?”

He watched the pulse in her neck race.

“You did. And you don’t. So. Speak.”

Jamie flattened his palms to cup his grimy knees. Eyes focused on his wife. His heart. His love. His soul.

“I had been at Helwater for about a year. Working as a groom named Alex MacKenzie – but ye ken that.”

She nodded.

“So. The lady Geneva – she was the elder daughter of the Dunsanys. Her younger sister, Isobel – you would have liked her, Claire. She is the one John married. And no, please dinna say anything about *that,* all right?”

She pursed her lips, but kept her promise.

Jamie cleared his throat. “So. I learned that Geneva was betrothed to the Earl of Ellesmere – a man old enough to be her grandsire. And I dinna ken what happened, but before I knew it, she was asking me to accompany her on her daily rides through the estate. Trying to learn about my background, how I came to be at Helwater.”

His jaw clenched with memory – eyes more than ten years away. “And then – and then, Claire, three days before her wedding, she approached me in the stable. I was filthy – shoveling manure. And she asked me – no, she *demanded* me – to come to her bed. Just as if ye’d ask me to pass ye the butter at breakfast.”

Claire moved to take his hand – but he raised his own hand to stop her.

“I was no’ but a servant to her. She – she *joyed* in the fact that she thought she could tell me what to do. It was all, ‘Yes, milady’ or ‘Of course, milady.’ And it’s no’ about my pride – I wasna angry about that. It was…”

His voice trailed off. Still he wouldn’t – couldn’t – meet Claire’s gaze. Absently he watched a squirrel scamper up the oak tree beside the cabin. Listening to his wife breathe, and the rustle of fabric as she bunched and unbunched her apron in her work-hardened hands.

“She threatened to tell her parents about who I really was – said they would throw me back into prison. I didna mind that, I had survived prison before. But then – ”

He inhaled sharply, breaths coming shallow. Looking anywhere but at her.

“Then when she saw I didna care about that, she named Ian and Jenny. Threatened to send redcoats to Lallybroch.”

He couldn’t hear or see anything, save Geneva’s smirk, and the way the wind swayed the ridiculous feather on her ridiculous hat, and the horses whinnying in their stables. And remember how it had taken every ounce of strength to not fall to his knees.

But then Claire was there – kneeling before him, her hands framing his face, murmuring soft words of love.

Thunderstruck, he searched her beautiful, beautiful eyes – and then physically recoiled.

But she didn’t let go. Her hands slipped to his shoulders – gripping him tightly.

“It’s all right, Jamie.” Her voice was soft – loving. “You did what was necessary to survive. She didn’t give you a choice.”

He swallowed, throat thick.

“She didna use force, Claire. But – but…”

She sank down a bit – hands slipping down his arms, gripping his fingers in hers.

Could she feel him trembling so?

“Go on.” Patient. Encouraging.

“I made love to her, Claire.”

Face burning with shame. Eyes wide and glassy with tears never shed.

“I couldna help myself, Claire. She – she tried to tell me what to do, but she was a virgin. God help me, I was gentle wi’ her. And I – I – finished.” He swallowed. “Claire – Claire – it had been eleven years since I sent ye away. And I’d only lain wi’ one woman, for one night, in that whole time. I’ll tell ye all about that too – ye deserve to know. But on that night, wi’ Geneva – it felt so, so good to be wi’ a woman. Not to have that pain anymore.”

He looked down at their joined hands, tracing her iron ring with his thumb.

“She wanted my body. It was – a transaction. It wasna personal. She didna ken how to touch a man – she didna even look at me. And after I left her room, and went back to where I slept in the stables, I felt so verra empty.”

He slid the pads of his fingers to trace the tendons on the inside of her wrist – feeling her pulse flutter.

“And that night, Claire,” he whispered, voice cracking. “That night I dreamed of you.”

For what could have been hours they sat there, in silence, not looking at each other, holding hands. Maintaining physical contact – the first – and best – way they could communicate.

“Were you afraid I wouldn’t forgive you?”

Slowly he clenched his good hand into a fist.

“Because there’s nothing to forgive, Jamie. Nothing.”

He shook his head sadly.

“Because I lay with her, Claire – she died. That sin is on me. And yet again I broke my vow to you – to be faithful to you, always.”

She heaved a deep, tired sigh. “But you thought I was dead. I don’t blame you for what you did – and I certainly can’t hate you for it. Or hate William.”

“But – ”

“And stop thinking you killed her. It’s more likely that poor medical care killed her – had she been attended by a proper doctor, she would have lived. You said she survived the birth, yes?”

He nodded tightly. “So I was told.”

“So she had a bad doctor. Had I been there, Jamie – I promise you she would have lived. I promise you that.”

He bit his lip so hard it drew blood.

She leaned forward to kiss it away.

And the dam broke – and Jamie buried his hands in her hair, kissing her desperately. Savoring the copper tang of his blood on her lips.

She pushed him to the ground – heedless of the dirt and leaves – and showed him just how much she loved him.

Loved.

Him.

With shaking hands he pushed up the front of his kilt – and the front of her skirts.

She smiled against his lips, and reached down to guide him home.

His gasp was everything, until –

“I – I give ye my body, Claire.” His head thrashed side to side, voice hoarse, on the edge of ecstasy.

She eased up – traced his eyelids open – watched his pupils dilate.

“I love you, Jamie.”

Fresh tears – her or him?

“I love ye, Claire,” he sobbed, broken. “I love ye.”

She held him as he fell apart, and kissed him, and put all of his broken pieces back together.


End file.
